


Maybe We Got Lost In Translation

by hoechled (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, College AU, M/M, coffeshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hoechled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles offers Derek a ride and one time Derek offers Stiles one. Or the one where Stiles rides a Vespa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe We Got Lost In Translation

The first time Stiles offered him a ride, it was raining softly, but just enough that if he kept walking, he'd be soaked to the bone. Not that he'd be much drier riding on Stiles's Vespa, but at least he could get home quicker. Stiles says as much when he slows down next to him. As if it pains him to admit this gangly kid on a scooter is right, the guy scowls, hesitates, and finally clambers on.

"Cool, so where do you live, man?" Stiles asks, a tiny thrill coursing through him that has nothing to do with the hot hot hot piece of ass against him. Really, he's just trying to pay it forward. If Mr Surly Brows was the third person Stiles could've offered a ride to...well he wasn't admitting that.

“Make a left up on Cherry. First complex on the right,” the mystery guy all but growled in Stiles’s ear.

An involuntary shiver ran up Stiles’s spine, and his hand faltered slightly on the clutch. All too soon he was in the left-hand lane for Cherry Avenue, and the sourpuss was clambering off the scooter, strapping the spare helmet back onto the seat, muttering a quick thanks and running up the steps.

“Hey, what’s your--?” Stiles stopped short, realizing Derek was already inside the building. “Name?”

He shook his head, and gripped the clutch once more, pulling away from the curb, and driving in the complete opposite direction, toward the side of town he actually lived on.

* * *

A few weeks later, Stiles was, once again, on the side of town Mr Surly Brows lived on. It wasn’t like he was looking for the guy walking down the street, really. It was just that his favorite coffee shop was down there, the one with the free wifi and the upstairs alcove that was perfect for working on his thesis, and it didn’t hurt that the bigger library in town was also down the street and around the corner and so maybe he’d seen the guy walking on the opposite side of the street basically every time he was there and--fuck. He was totally stalking the guy.

It was day 15 of creepy-hot dude watch, as he’d begun referring to it in his head, when Stiles noticed that the guy wasn’t walking across the street at his usual time. Deciding he shouldn’t worry since he’d gotten like, twenty pages of his thesis done today--a feat that required no less than seven cappuccinos--Stiles stood, stretched, and started packing up his things. He hurried down the stairs, two at a time, and let out a yelp when he crashed into something very firm and very warm, his laptop case falling out of his hand.

Just as he darted out a hand to try and catch it, someone else did it for him. “Sorry, dude, I’m so sorry, thank you so much god I’d die if that computer bit the bullet you have no idea my entire future is in that laptop thank y--”

His babbling was cut short when he looked up to see Mr Surly Brows himself. Instead of the trademark scowl Stiles had adjusted to seeing on the guy’s face--even when he was just walking down the street he looked like he hated the world--there was a tiny hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Uh....”

”Articulate, this one,” Mr Surly Brows said, looking over his shoulder at the barista. “You have the weirdest patrons, Laura.”

”Hey, don’t go bashing my clientele, baby brother. They’ll never come back,” the girl called out.

”Baby...brother...?”

The guy stepped back from Stiles, letting go of the wrist Stiles hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Yes...? This is Hale & Family Coffee. She’s Laura Hale, and I’m Derek Hale.”

In all the times Stiles had been in the shop, through all the conversations he’d had with Laura wherein she whined about her brother Derek always being a big fat Mr Grumpy Gills, Stiles never thought to ask what the guy looked like. Now that he knew...he wasn’t too sure he was pleased that it was the guy he’d been inadvertently stalking. Especially considering he was using Derek’s _sister’s_ coffee shop to do a majority of his stalking.

By the grace of whatever it is that’s up in the sky, Stiles’s brain-to-mouth filter kicked in and kept him from saying all of that. “Oh, that’s cool man. I never did catch your name that day in the rain.”

Laura perked up at this, and opened her mouth to ask what Stiles was referring to when Derek shoved Stiles’s laptop case back in his hand. Stiles took that as his cue to get the hell out of dodge, and lifted his hand in goodbye. “So, I’ll see you two around then?”

”See you tomorrow, Stiles,” Laura trilled. “We both know you’ll die without your caffeine.”

She had a point. “Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow, Laura. Nice to finally get a face to your name, Derek. Or a name to your face. Both actually, now that I think about--I’m just gonna go now.”

He quickly darted out the door, fishing out his keys and unclasping his helmet from his bookbag. Just as he threw a leg over his Vespa, he heard Derek calling out to him. “What the hell kind of name is Stiles anyway?”

Stiles laughed. It would be his name, of all things, that would pique the guy’s interest. “Nickname. Long story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.” He was about to pull away when he realized Derek probably walked to the shop, since he’d never actually seen Derek drive anything.

”Did you want a lift home?”

”Nah, Laura’s dragging me home with her for family dinner. Thanks, though.”

Stiles smiled and shrugged, putting the key in the ignition. With a huge amount of grace and bravado he knew he didn’t actually possess, Stiles fired up his scooter and pulled away, raising a hand at Derek before heading home.

* * *

It wasn’t actually until three weeks later that Stiles saw Derek again. He’d been busy, spending most of his time actually at the library using real resources instead of the internet, and had just been popping in and out of Hale & Family Coffee whenever he started to feel drained. Laura kept looking like she wanted to drag out their conversations, but Stiles looked so haggard and anxious that she couldn’t bring herself to.

Stiles was halfway through his ninth cappuccino and on the last leg of his thesis--which was due in no less than 37 hours--when the caffeine stopped taking effect. Before he realized, he had fallen asleep with his head resting on the desk next to his laptop. But just before he could start drooling or snoring or anything else embarrassing, he was being shaken awake.

”Huh? Whuzzgoinon?”

He heard a soft, low laugh. “Stiles? Stiles are you alive in there?”

Stiles cracked open his eyes slowly, Derek’s face swimming into focus as his brain kicked itself into gear. “Derek? What are you doing here?” He sat up, discreetly wiped his face to make sure he hadn’t been drooling, and shook his head in attempt to clear it.

”Laura mentioned you were on your ninth coffee in less than six hours and that you’d been practically living at the library. She sent me to check on you.”

Stiles rubbed at his eyes, willing them to stay open once he stopped. “Well, that was nice of her, but I’m fine. Totally fine.”

”As evidenced by your passing out with a cup of coffee dangerously close to the laptop that--and I quote--has your entire future on it?” Derek asked, a smirk growing on his face and heavy sarcasm coloring his voice.

Stiles glared at Derek as fiercely as he could, but based on the laugh that ripped out of him it had as much effect as an angry kitten. “Whatever, man, I so don’t have time for this. I appreciate you waking me up, but I really need to finish this.”

Instead of leaving like Stiles had hoped, Derek pulled up a chair next to Stiles. “And what is _this_ exactly?”

”My thesis. It’s a study of the effects of losing a parent on people of different ages, genders, religions, et cetera.”

”Did you...I mean...”

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My mom died when I was twelve. Car accident.” He pulled up his left sleeve and twisted his arm so Derek could see the jagged scar that winded its way up toward his collar bone. “She died and I walked away with a few stitches.”

”I’m sorry.”

Stiles shrugged. “People don’t really ask anymore because I don’t really get close to people, so it’s not that big a deal unless I’m forced to talk about it or think about it for too long. Good choice of topic for someone who’s not good at dealing, huh?”

”I think it’s nice that you’re turning it into something that can help you with your future. And who knows, maybe it’ll help other people too. I mean, it could get published or something.” Derek fell silent for a moment before turning his head to look at the ground. “My parents died when I was fifteen. The oven blew up and the house caught fire while Laura and I were at school. Our uncle Peter and aunt Lucy raised us after that.”

Stunned into silence, Stiles did the only thing he could think of, and covered one of Derek’s hands with his own. “It never really gets easier, huh?”

Derek shook his head, squeezing Stiles’s hand before pulling his away. “So. Anything I can help you with? I could stick around, make sure you stay awake?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and scowled, letting out a sort of growl as he started typing again. “Dude, I was so not that asleep. I’m fine, I told you.”

”Your eyes are glazing over.”

”They’re resting.”

”That’s what old people say when they’re falling asleep.”

”Whatever. Fine. You can stay. _Just_ to make sure I stay awake. No awkward conversations, no giving me any input, no--”

”You just misspelled irreconcilable.”

”What part of no input did you not understand?” Stiles grumbled as he fixed his mistake that even his laptop hadn’t caught yet.

”Your sentence there would make so much more sense if you’d just use the Oxford comma. Just because it was ruled unnecessary doesn’t mean it doesn’t have merit,” Derek said, pointing at the middle of the screen.

”Were you a fly in a past life? Because you’re seriously buggin.”

”Buggin? That’s the joke you’re going for? Seriously?”

”Silence, oh grouchy one. I require silence if I’m going to get these last five pages done and submit this paper within the next....shit I’m down to thirty three hours.”

”I think you can do five pages in thirty three hours. If not, you’ve got bigger problems than your shitty idea of jokes.”

”Clearly you’ve never met someone with ADHD and a caffeine addiction.”

They bickered for a few more minutes before falling into a comfortable silence, Derek reading over the notes Stiles was done with and occasionally prodding him to make sure he was still awake. Almost four hours later, Stiles threw his fists in the air and let out a whoop before remembering he was in a library.

”Sorry Ms. Morell!” he whispered to the librarian who was now glaring at him. He turned to Derek excitedly, hastily clicking the print button and putting a ten dollar bill in the slot next to the printer. “Dude, I finished. I’m done. I officially never have to look at this paper again.”

”Congratulations. Just one thing, Stiles.”

”What? What could you possibly have to say that could ruin this?”

”You forgot to put your name on it before you started printing.”

”SERIOUSLY?” he cried. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I swear no more yelling, Ms. Morell.” He turned angrily to Derek. “You couldn’t have mentioned that before I started printing a forty two page paper at seventeen cents per page?!”

Derek raised his voice an octave to imitate Stiles’s, saying softly, “No input, Mr. Surly Brows, none at all, I’ve had it with your input.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was more angry at himself for saying it, or Derek for finding the whole thing humorous. “Whatever I’m cancelling this and printing it again and you’re totally paying for it.”

Derek did pay for it, only so that Stiles wouldn’t have a meltdown, and once it was printed, he pulled it out of the tray, aligning all of the pages and stapling it at the corner before flipping it over to hand to Stiles. He paused, the name in the corner catching his eye. “What the hell does that say? Is that even a real language?”

”That,” Stiles said as he snatched the paper away from Derek, “is my farce of a first name. Family name or some bull like that. Nobody alive can pronounce it, honestly. It was my mom’s idea so I’ll never change it, but that’s definitely part of why I go by Stiles.”

Derek had nearly forgotten the promise of the tale of the strange nickname. “That’s a story you owe me still.”

Stiles laughed. “Maybe another time. I need to run to campus to submit this, and then I need to go home and sleep for days.”

”You gonna be okay to drive? Should I have Laura set you up an IV of espresso?”

”Oh, it has jokes,” Stiles deadpanned. “I’ll be fine. I’m actually more awake now that I’m done. I think it was the paper, it was leeching my lifesource out of me.”

”Right.”

”Do you need a ride home? It’s pretty late.” Stiles started packing up his things, carefully fitting his paper into a folder before placing it into his binder to keep it straight and safe. “It’s not too far, and the extra driving will wake me up quicker.”

”It’s out of your way though. Campus is the other way.”

”No biggie. C’mon, sourpuss. You kept me awake for four hours. Let me at least save you and your virtue from the big, bad, scary streets.”

Derek snorted. “My virtue? Pretty sure that’s been gone for almost a decade.”

”Okay, so you’re secretly a creature of the night or something. Whatever. Offer still stands, but dude, I gotta get out of here soon, I think I’m starting to become one with the building.”

”Sure, Stiles. I’d love a ride home,” Derek deadpanned, his voice dripping with sass.

”Was that so hard?” Stiles asked, absentmindedly patting Derek’s forearm. “Let’s get cookin, good lookin.”

”You’re so fucking weird.”

”I know. It keeps me awake at night.”

They headed out and Derek swung onto the scooter behind Stiles as he had before, this time finding he was far less hesitant to grip the younger boy’s hips as they pulled off into the street. In less than two minutes, they pulled up in front of his building, and he quickly dismounted, strapping the helmet back in place. “Thanks for the lift.”

”Thanks for the assistance.”

”You still owe me the story of your nickname, you know.”

”Next time. See you later, Derek.”

”See you.” By the time he reached the door and buzzed himself in, Stiles had already ripped away from the curb, speeding toward campus. He wasn’t exactly sure how it’d happened, but Derek was pretty sure he’d just made casual plans to see Stiles again.

* * *

A couple of days passed before Stiles strolled into the coffee shop again. Laura asked if he’d caught up on all the sleep he missed while writing his thesis, laughing at him when his face turned pink as he ran a hand through his hair. “You totally just rolled out of bed for the first time since you turned it in, didn’t you?”

Stiles shot her his best attempt at an angry glare, which only made her laugh even more. “Oh, honey,” she cooed, leaning across the counter and ruffling his hair into something slightly presentable. “Here, your capp’s on the house today.”

“Thanks Laura,” he grumbled. He turned when he heard someone calling his name, and was shocked to see Lydia walking into the cafe. “Lyds? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, obviously. I tried to call you seven times yesterday, and when I finally got a hold of Scott he said this is where you go when you’re off the grid.” Lydia had finally reached Stiles’s side and was studying the menu with pursed lips. “I’ll take a nonfat, triple shot cappuccino with precisely four pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of artificial sweetener, and a dash of salt. Bone dry, if you will.”

Laura gave Stiles a look that clearly said she thought Lydia was batshit insane, and Stiles just half-heartedly shrugged one shoulder as if to say, “ _Trust me, I already know._ ”

As he pulled out his wallet to pay for Lydia’s drink, Stiles gestured toward a table in the corner for her to go sit down. “I’ll bring your drink, just go wait for me over there.” Lydia grinned at him and hopped up on her toes to peck his cheek quickly before twirling and seating herself at the table Stiles had suggested. He shook his head as Lydia sat down and pulled her tablet out of her purse. It wasn’t that he and Lydia weren’t friends or that they didn’t hang out; it was just that whenever they did, she usually wanted something from him. As long as she didn’t have the stupid idea in her head again that he could be used to make Jackson jealous, he was pretty sure he’d do whatever she was here to ask him.

”So how much for Miss Fancy-Pants’s drink?” he asked Laura, pulling out a ten dollar bill.

”C’mon, Stiles, I can’t give you one free drink and then make you pay for one you don’t even get to enjoy. It’s fine, just go have fun with your girlfriend,” Laura said, sliding him the cup and waving him away.

”Thanks, Laura, I really appreciate it,” Stiles said, dazed as he found himself staring openly at Derek entering the shop. Instead of the typical t-shirt and flannel Derek usually wore, today he was practically glistening with sweat, grime marks all over his arms, which, by the way, happened to be sinfully muscular. Stiles had always suspected as much, but seeing them now, free of their sleeves and instead poking out of a wifebeater...this was a whole other level.

Laura snorted at his ogling, and shook her head as he walked away. Derek approached the counter, muttering a quick hello to Stiles before letting his forehead fall to the cold surface.

”OY! That’s a perfectly clean counter, baby bro, and you’re getting sweat and grease all over it.”

”I’m dying Laura. I’m dying. It’s so hot outside, the A/C at work is busted, and I’ve had to get under six cars this morning alone. I’m dying.”

”Oh, cut the dramatics. Here, princess, have an iced tea.” She slid him a tall paper cup, complete with bendy straw, and chuckled to herself as he gulped the whole thing down.

”Thanks,” he said, lifting his head off the counter and walking around behind it to grab a rag and some disinfectant. “What was up with Stiles? He didn’t seem as talkative as usual.” He paused in his cleaning to look around, and caught sight of Lydia leaning across the table to whisper in Stiles’s ear. When she pulled away, there was a devilish smirk on her face, and Stiles was flushed crimson. Realizing that was probably Stiles’s girlfriend, Derek froze momentarily before quickly finishing up.

Stiles got up out of his seat and was heading toward the counter just as Derek put the cleaning supplies back and grabbed his freshly refilled cup of tea. “Oh, Derek, are you leaving already?”

”Gotta get back to work.”

”Do you want a ride? It’s pretty hot out there today.”

Derek gave Stiles a cold glare. “No thanks. I’d rather walk.”

Stiles watched confusedly as Derek all but stormed out of the coffee shop. “What the hell was....?”

Before Stiles could ask Laura precisely what kind of bug had crawled up Derek’s ass and died there, Lydia was calling out to him again. “Stiles, Jackson says he can’t pick me up. I need you to take me to Allison’s right now, please, or I’m going to be late.”

Stiles shrugged, turning to Laura. “Thanks again for the free joe. See you later.”

”Sure, Stiles,” Laura said, her tone slightly colder than usual.

* * *

That Friday, Stiles was at a party he most definitely didn’t want to be at with Lydia and Jackson. Lydia had insisted they bring him along since he had been moping over the past three days about Derek not being at the coffee shop and Laura acting cold toward him.

”Look, Lydia, I know you and Stilinski are _friends_ ,” Jackson began, tripping over the word friends as if it killed something within him to say it. “But do we really have to bring him? He doesn’t even want to go.”

Where Stiles would normally be acting as if Jackson hurt his feelings, he was agreeing so vehemently with Jackson that he couldn’t even spare a bit of wit. “Seriously, Lyds, listen to Captain McDoucheface. I don’t want to go, please don’t make me.”

It was a show of how much neither of them wanted Stiles at this party that Jackson didn’t even have a retort to the nickname. But Lydia ignored both of them, choosing instead to twirl a loose tendril of her thick red hair around one finger, tilting her head up at them. “I’ve already said you’re going Stiles, which means you’re going,” she said calmly, her voice carrying a heavy air of finality.

Jackson and Stiles both sighed and shared an exasperated look before immediately returning to their normal behavior of discontent with one another, though unlike every other time the two were thrust into situations with each other, this time the jabs stayed lighthearted. It was as if agreeing on something--even something as small as agreeing that Stiles shouldn’t be dragged out with Jackson and Lydia--had dissolved part of the barrier keeping them from being friends. Though they’d never admit it, they actually enjoyed spending time together whenever Lydia forced it, because even while Lydia always got her way, it was nice having an ally, someone who felt the same about certain hair-brained schemes of hers.

Like this certain hair-brained scheme, for example. Lydia thought it the most clever thing in the world, bringing Stiles out to a party, declaring herself the DD, since she knew Jackson was kinder--and handsy-er--when drunk. What she hadn’t anticipated was that since it was a party being thrown by the captain of the university’s lacrosse team (and Derek Hale was a well known alumni of said team), Derek might also be at the party. And while that should have been anticipated, nobody was prepared for the state they found him in.

Stiles was shocked to say the least, spotting Derek with a bottle of scotch in his hand--or rather, about an eighth of a bottle of scotch left. Drunk no longer remained a relevant term to describe Derek. Incapacitated, perhaps. Gone. Out of his mind. Stiles would accept all of the above and any combination thereof. And despite the radio silence he'd been receiving from Derek, and the cold front from Laura, he knew he had to do something about this.

After a split-second's hesitation, Stiles ran toward Derek and pulled the bottle out of his hand before pulling Derek away from the skeevy looking guy that was trying to feel him up. "Dude, he's drunk out of his mind, what's your problem?" he said venomously, giving the guy--Greenberg, the kid who'd been a senior for six years, go figure--a scowl worthy of a Lydia Martin seal of approval.

Derek whined for a moment before registering that it was Stiles who was saving him, and then all protestations became far more heated. Anger. Anger was something Stiles could deal with. Derek being upset at the loss of Greenberg's hands on his crotch? Not so much. "Derek, did you drive here tonight?"

"No, I flew. Obviously I drove here."

"Give me your keys, I'm driving you home."

"No."

"That wasn't a request, Derek."

”Answer’s still no.”

”Derek. Please, let me drive you home. You can’t drive like this, and I’m not leaving you to be felt up by a guy who’s spent the last six years trying to earn the last three credits he needs to graduate.”

After a bit of struggling, Stiles finally got Derek to forfeit the keys to the Camaro, and was in the process of talking him into leaving when Jackson appeared at his side. "He's about to pass out, Stiles. Grab his side, I've got the other." Stiles barely had time to register the fact that Jackson was finally calling him something other than his last name before Derek did precisely what was predicted.

With a bit of maneuvering, Stiles and Jackson managed to dump Derek in the backseat of his car and close the door without hitting him. Stiles slumped against the car, eyes shut, wondering what had caused Derek to drink so heavily. "Thanks for the help, Jackson. I really appreciate it."

He opened his eyes just in time to see Jackson shrug. "It was no big deal. And maybe you're not as bad as I make it seem."

"Yeah, yeah, go on, get back to the party before all these niceties make you vomit," Stiles said, shoving at Jackson playfully. "I can take it from here."

The drive to Derek’s apartment was short, but by the time they got there, Derek had woken enough to sit up, and once they pulled up to the curb, he got out of the car. “Hand me my keys.”

”Dude, you’re not making me walk. I’m going to go find Laura, she’s going to drive me home, and then you can have your car back.”

Derek sighed, wincing simultaneously as the gesture caused his head to throb painfully. “I need to get the key to my apartment off the key ring.”

”Oh.”

Derek quickly twisted the key off and handed the ring back to Stiles, muttering a quick “Thanks” before running up the steps and into the building. Stiles pulled away from the curb quickly, whipping the car around in a U-turn and heading for the coffee shop. The sign was flipped to “Closed,” but the lights were still on and Stiles knew Laura was still there and the door was unlocked. He let himself in, announcing his presence so she wouldn’t freak out.

”Laura? Laura, it’s Stiles. We need to talk.”

”What are you doing here, Stiles?” she responded from the back. Despite the distance, Stiles could hear the weariness in her voice.

”You need to tell me right now what the hell I did to piss you and Derek off, and moreover, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on with Derek that he would think it’s an acceptable thing to drink an entire bottle of thirty year old scotch while letting Greenberg feel him up.”

Laura stared at Stiles for a full thirty seconds before speaking. “Derek was upset because he thought he had a shot with you but then you had to go and bring Lydia here and show him that all that flirting you did with him was harmless because you have a girlfriend and _What does it matter anyway, Laura, Stiles is way out of my league_ and god, do you even know what he’s like when he’s mopey?” she rattled off in one breath.

Stiles thought he could talk, but he had nothing on Laura. “Wait. Girlfriend? No, no, no. No way. Lydia’s not--”

”I called her your girlfriend to your face, Stiles, said _have fun with your **girlfriend**_ and you didn’t contradict me.”

”What? When did--oh man. I was totally distracted by the sight of Derek in a wifebeater, covered in oil and sweat.”

Laura’s eyes widened comically before she threw her head back and practically howled with laughter. “Oh my _GOD_ I _**told**_ him! I told him, I said, _Derek there’s no way this kid likes our coffee this much. Even before you two were friends he’d come here every day and sit by the window and every day he’d leave right around the same time you’d text me about the window display, I’ll bet you anything he was watching you!_ But did Derek listen? No, of course not, because the dumbass still thinks he knows better than me. Oh, this is rich.”

Stiles groaned and put his hands over his face to try and hide his blush. “Laura, come on, tell me how to fix this.”

She motioned for Stiles to come behind the counter, and quickly fixed him his regular drink before shoving him through one of the doors in the back. “Use my desk. Write him a letter, give it to me, and I’ll deliver it. Explain everything. That way you can avoid the awkward conversation, but you can still clear the air. And maybe add a post-script about wanting to jump his bones. That’ll cheer him right up.” She pushed Stiles into her chair, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and practically bounced out of the room to finish closing up shop.

By the time Laura’d finished, Stiles had written nearly three pages, and was just adding the post-script when she came to hover over his shoulder. “ _PS: Laura said to write a PS about wanting to jump your bones because it would cheer you up, so hey, smile there sourwolf._ STILES. That’s not what I meant.”

”Too late!” Stiles laughed and folded the pieces of paper, putting them in an envelope, sealing it, and signing his extremely complicated signature over the place it sealed. “I’ll know if you read it Laura, that signature is impossible to replicate.”

Laura threw a withering look at Stiles. “Oh please. I’ll read it after Derek. He hides all his treasured objects in the same place.”

”Just...make sure he reads it?” Stiles asked tentatively.

”Scout’s honor. Now come on, I’m guessing I need to drive you home.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Stiles found himself on the side of one of the backroads in town, near an abandoned farmhouse, his Vespa smoking and his patience wearing thin. “Look, dude, insurance guy, I _know_ my roadside assistance doesn’t cover this road. I _know_ that costs an extra $40 per month. But can’t you just bend the rules? Just once? For the son of the sheriff? Or at least give me a towing company to call?” He sighed and pulled out a pen to write the number the guy was giving him down on his wrist. “Thanks for all your help,” he said, all sarcasm and bitterness.

He hung up and quickly dialed the number scrawled across his arm. “You’ve reached Alpha Towing, this is Peter speaking, what can I do you for today?”

”Hey, hi, I’m broken down on Bailey Creek Road, by the old Stowell farm, and my roadside assistance doesn’t cover me back here. I need a tow and a ride back into town as soon as possible, if that’s possible.”

”Sure thing, kid, just give me your name, insurance company, and phone number so I can give it to one of our drivers.”

”Oh man, thanks. It’s uh, Stiles Stilinski, I have State Farm, and my number is--”

”Wait, did you say your first name is Stiles?”

”Technically it’s a nickname...”

”We won’t be needing your information, kid. Someone will be out there shortly.”

”Wha--” Stiles heard the click of being hung up on before he could react. “Well that wasn’t ominous at all,” he said, his hand slipping into his pocket to reaffirm that he did indeed have his pepper spray on him.

Stiles had pushed his scooter out of harm’s way and was lounging in the grass when he finally heard the sounds of another vehicle approaching. Looking up warily, he saw a pickup truck headed toward him, and he sighed in relief when he saw the logo for Alpha Towing on the side of it. At least it wasn’t an axe murderer.

He was not at all prepared for Derek to climb out of the truck when it pulled up to him, though.

”Derek? You’re a tow truck driver?”

Derek shrugged. “Not usually. Normally I just fix up the cars that my uncle brings in. You spoke to him on the phone, Peter?”

”Another family business? What are you, the Trumps?”

”No,” Derek deadpanned. “We’re richer.”

”Ha-ha. Now can you get me out of here? I’m pretty sure any longer on the side of this road and my life is going to turn into a bad horror cliche.”

”How do you know I’m not the bad horror cliche?” Derek asked as he lifted Stiles bike into the bed of his truck with ease.

”Because you like me too much to kill me. Or at least, I think you do. Hope you do? I dunno man, I’m suffering mad heat exhaustion here, just tell me something before I get in the truck with you okay? Did you read the letter?”

Derek paused before closing the lip on the trunk. “I did. Just this morning actually. I was too busy being angry and embarrassed to look at it before now, but Laura threatened to read it before me, so I was backed into a corner. I was actually going to call you when I got off work, but then this happened...”

”And?” Stiles was done making the moves. If anything was going to happen now, it was on Derek.

Derek hesitated, taking a deep breath before stepping in front of Stiles, effectively pinning him against the car. His eyes moved frantically, staring into Stiles’s, looking for any sign that he should back off. When he found none, he closed the gap between them, leaning forward and pressing their lips together. Neither of them moved at first, and then, as if hypnotized, they moved in sync. Their lips caught and dragged and scraped, Stiles’s annoyingly chapped, Derek’s frustratingly soft. The stubble on Derek’s jaw made Stiles feel as if he needed to sneeze, and the warmth of Stiles’s skin made Derek feel like his whole body was on fire.

They pulled apart slowly, lazy grins mirroring on both of their faces. Stiles’s eyes fluttered open slowly, only to find Derek was already watching him, clearly enraptured. “Well. That answers that then.”

”I guess it does,” Derek said with a laugh. “So, Stiles. You do still owe me the story of that nickname. Let me give you a ride home, and you can tell me.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is lovely but not at all necessary, though i do feed on applause and attention. also if you'd like you can find me on tumblr where my username is also hoechled and you can totes give me prompts if you want xoxox


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